Whatever Happened to Hurry? All the Splendor of Versailles.

“But what happened to Hurry,” Miss Gilda insisted. She was sucking on the fur of her coat as we spoke. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from me to the officers. She took a step forward, and yet seemed not about to dare to step any further forward. She shook with her words. “Please-- it’s important to know.”

“Yes,” said Cox I, “back to the house. It was some time growing the unease in the house. Memoria and Hurry lived well together at first and their parties were indeed legendary. But, as it seems things invariably happen over and over again, there began a tension between them as they each took other lovers. The other lovers in turn were married to each other, so the whole thing became a sort of romantic quadrangle.

“To reduce the tension, Memoria suggested that they host a party, since these seemed to ice over the cracks and at least allow some fun to happen once more into a household that grew ever more gloomy by the day. The fights were as legendary as the parties, and it was apparently not unlikely to see two or three of the main inhabitants of the household marching each other around with firearms at their side and whiskey bottles in their hands.

“So, a party was thrown, and this part was to be theme, fancy dress, after the court of the Sun King. Louis the Fourteenth. The same theme as in his dream. Memoria suggested it, but Hurry, remembering that dream, jumped at the chance. He had this idea in his head that the part would somehow set things right, that whatever did happen, it would not be exactly like the dream. It would, however, lead to him an Memoria reuniting. He believed, and she seemed to believe as well, that they would come together as man and wife and be happy, together, at last.

“When the day of the party came, the whole town was there. And the usual partiers, the attendants, everyone who could possibly find their way into the party, even if they needed to beg, borrow, or steal their way into costume. As long as your costume was accurate, you were not turned away. This was a very large, lavish party. And they served so much wine that every vineyard nearby was bought out for two years afterwards, excepting their own small stashes. You could barely hear for all the conversation going out-- it drowned out all thought. And Hurry was delighted with his guests. Especially delighted with the women who dressed as period courtesans.

“Problem is, Memoria found his stares, usually down at the chests of the women, to be exactly the sort of thing that the party was set out to avoid. She screamed at him, but-- because of the noise-- he did hear her. He just kept staring. And she just kept screaming at him and screaming at him until finally the whole party seemed to stop and turn, all at once, towards her screaming. The last to turn and look was Hurry. He tried to say something, but his tongue was tied up.

“She ran away, off into the household, and Hurry began to run after her. As he ran after her he dropped the glass he had been holding. It shattered, exactly as it had in his dream. This, he took in stride, apparently, as he believed that this would lead to their reconciliation. He dashed through the household, while the whole party downstairs began to talk, very loudly, about what they had just witnessed. Meanwhile, he raced through the household, up to the attic.

“Here, he found Memoria. But she was not all in white, surrounded by a kind light, as he remembered from his dream. Instead the place was dark. They had barely even ventured into the attic after the house was built, and here was stored all the remnants of items from fights, swept away by their servants and yet never destroyed, repaired, or sold. He glanced down at his right foot and found broken pieces of a mirror that he had smashed in one of the jealous arguments that led to this point.

“He looked up, and the shadows in the room seemed to loom all around him. He looked towards the window, where he had seen Memoria in his dream. There was Memoria, all right, clouded in shadow. He tried to move towards her, reached out his arms. But she spoke not a word. She said nothing. He ran to her, clutched at her shoulder, and she shrieked. A chill ran down his spine. He jumped back. And, shrieking, Memoria fell out the window, down the three storeys, and was impaled on the lampshade in the grove below.”

“The grove is nowhere near the house,” I pointed out.

“I suspect it’s been moved,” said Cox II. “By some of the people who have tried to sell the house.”

“But what happened when she died?” Miss Gilda insisted. Her coat was now thoroughly soaked in her saliva, yet she kept chewing on it, very nervously.

“The party ended, obviously,” said Cox I, “And the police were called to deal with her ****. As you might suspect, since Hurry was the last one to see Memoria alive, he was tried for her ****. He retained the best lawyers, as might be expected of a man with wealth at his disposal, and they were able to free him for the possibility of incarceration through instilling in the jury a sense of the reasonable doubt. It was possible, the jury concluded, that someone else had pushed Memoria, or she had jumped of her own accord. Because no one was at the scene of the crime and there was nothing to disprove his account.

“But Hurry Hendrickson was ruined. No one would come to the house anymore, and he dismissed most of the servants. He lived here alone, and he buried Memoria besides the lamppost. Several friends tried to have him removed somewhere, but he refused because he believed his dream would still come true. He stayed for about three more years in the house, barely eating, barely saying anything. He even tried to revive his spiritualist act, but he said that something was blocking the contact he used to make. He heard too many voices, he said, and some he thought were ghosts of the future. Something warned him of a dark presence in the world, a coming massacre. He wrote it out, faithfully, in the diary he kept. But he said nothing to anyone. He barely even retained his cook and housekeeper, and they only remained because they still received a substantial amount of pay for their services.

“After three years, he began to drift up to that attic. He waited day and night, apparently, writing down notes about his search. He hoped to see Memoria again. But he never did. And eventually, one friend managed to persuade him to move far away. He left, though I suppose he left most of himself in this house. After that it was run down for many years, and until you recently bought the house.”

Officer Cox lit a cigarette and offered one to the other Officer Cox, who accepted. For a long moment, they stood there, smoking their Parliament Lights. The rest of us blinked, trying to decipher the whole story, trying to understand how a place that seemed to beautiful, so valuable, could possibly cause so much pain. Miss Gilda shrank back away from the officers, into the arms of Robert and Roman, who both massaged her back.

“Anyways,” said the shorter Cox, “we’re glad you are back safe. It is important to this town. After all that new factory will really help out. We can get this town booming again.”

“But don’t go having any Versailles parties,” said Cox II. With this they finished their cigarette simultaneously, stamped them out in unison, and strode back to their patrol car.